


Dishes Drabbles

by MarianneGreenleaf



Series: Canon and Fanon Reflections [8]
Category: The Music Man (1962), The Music Man - All Media Types, The Music Man - Willson
Genre: Charming Victorian, Clandestine canoodling, Courtship is the best ship, Edwardian era, F/M, Fluff with depth, Heavy Angst, Heavy Petting, Jazz Age, Kitchen cuddling, Lake Michigan Cabin, heartwarming domesticity, nonstandard format, smexytimes, sweet & low
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 23:16:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19386460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarianneGreenleaf/pseuds/MarianneGreenleaf
Summary: Harold never thought he’d find the domesticity of Marian washing dishes so enticing. Five times he kept the librarian company while she did the dishes, and one time he didn’t. In the form of 100-word drabbles.





	Dishes Drabbles

_July 1912  
The day after_

Yesterday, Harold told Marian he loved her. Today, despite his best efforts, he couldn’t manage to see her alone. At least, not until he excused himself from the ladies chirping excitedly at him and crept into the Paroo kitchen. When he entered the room, the librarian’s back was to him, but he was thoroughly arrested by the sight of her. A curl or two had escaped from her bun, her pristine blouse was rolled roughly up to her elbows, and she was furiously scrubbing a plate. Unable to resist, he walked right over and wrapped his arms around her waist.

XXX

_November 1912  
One more day_

Although he’d spent the last four months planning his future with Marian, Harold could hardly believe there was only one more day before they would finally belong to each other. When he stole into the Paroo kitchen after Thanksgiving dinner and wrapped his arms around his wife-to-be, it suddenly hit him that this would be the last time his hands would have to be confined to her waist as she washed the dishes. And from the way she sighed in his arms as his wandering hands _almost_ caressed her breasts, he knew she was just as eager for such freedom.

XXX

_March 1913  
Scandalously in love_

Given how often he and Marian made love, Harold was amazed that the dishes got done at all. At least half the time when he approached his wife in the kitchen after a meal, he barely had to wrap his arms around her waist and press against her before she turned in his embrace to capture his mouth in a searing kiss. Some nights, he even went so far as to sit her on the counter, which placed her at the perfect height for him to drop his trousers and drive into her – which she encouraged both loudly and shamelessly.

XXX

_September 1924  
Remembering Paris_

In Paris, Marian never did any dishes. But once they got home, she had all too many to do before she would allow herself to lean back in Harold’s arms when he embraced her. Lest the children burst into the kitchen, he rarely attempted to so much as give his wife’s breasts a furtive stroke, let alone seduce her into making passionate and unabashed love on the counter. Harold somehow found this enforced restraint even more frustrating than their courtship, because now he knew exactly what he was missing out on, and what he wasn’t likely to ever have again.

XXX

_July 1929  
Lake Michigan_

The only reason Harold didn’t make love to Marian while she did the dishes was because their tiny cabin didn’t have a counter at the proper height. After they sent the kids outside to play, with strict instructions not to come back until it got dark, he had no compunction about pressing his erection to his wife’s posterior and letting his hands wander wherever they wanted. Instead of turning around to embrace him right away, she teased him mercilessly, pressing back against him until he breathlessly pulled her to their bedroom – or the nearest wall when he got too impatient.

XXX

_May 1950  
The dead stay with us_

Harold had no memory of the first four months after Marian’s death, but he thought he was doing fine. And he was – until he had to wash the dishes. Standing alone in the kitchen, he felt the ache of his wife’s absence so keenly it hurt to breathe. He would never again wrap his arms around her waist or feel her warmth pressed against him. It was such a small moment. But it was the small moments that unraveled a man. His chest heaved, his hands shook, a glass shattered, his thumb bled. After that, he never washed another dish.


End file.
